OUR PLAN WAS simple. Gary went to the front door, opened it, and shined a light out as he shouted, “Is someone
out there?”
At the same time, Rob and I slipped out the back door. He immediately headed up the nearest hill to the ridge with
his rifle. I took the single-action old-fashioned re volver, with about thirty extra rounds now in my pocket. I followed
along the base of the hill, staying in the de ep, dark shadows. Not only did the shadows ke ep me hidden from
anyone; they also k ept me from seeing anything.
By the time I came to a stop close to Gary’s house next door, my eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat. I was still
wearing my jacket—I hadn’t even had a chance to take it off—but it was still crazy cold out. I was nervous, and I
kinda expected sweat to trickle down into my eyes. It was a normal reaction to extreme stress. But that wasn’t going
to happen tonight in this weather. It felt like my sweat froze right to my forehead.
As I paused there in the dark, I heard a familiar noise. It was Fido, the llama, spitting at someone. All I had to do
was turn slightly to my left and move about ten yards. I heard the sound of cursing, then saw the briefest of
movements in the dark.
I raised my re volver and out of habit shouted, “Police, don’t move!”
That earned me two quick bullets fired in my direction. I dropped straight to the ground. I fired twice and heard
someone groan. Fido spat a couple more times as the figure stumbled away from the house.
Behind me, from the top of the hill, Rob fired his rifle. The r eport from the large-caliber Winchester was solid and
loud. I couldn’t see what he was shooting at but was sure that the former military sniper had hit whatever he’d
aimed at.
I decided to follow my potential target around the corner of the house.
As I ran past Fido’s pen, the llama hissed at me. I hoped it didn’t warn anyone waiting around the corner.
I didn’t hesitate or slow down. As soon as I turned the corner, I ran into someone hard. We slammed into each other
like a head-on collision on the interstate. I dropped my re volver as I fell onto the rock-hard frozen ground.
Rather than reach for it, I decided it would be better if I acted quickly, so I sprang off the ground and hit the person
I’d run into.
I heard my victim let out a groan as the air was pushed from his lungs.
Then someone else fired a shot at me. I scurried backward like a crab to get behind the cover of the side of the
house. When I peeked around, I saw the woman from the bar helping her partner up from the ground.
A pickup truck roared up to the front of Mona’s house and screeched to a stop. I watched as Arnold Marks and one
of the rednecks from the sports bar—Cauliflower Ear—climbed out of the pickup with weapons in their hands.
Marks was holding some kind of AK-47 knockoff, and Cauliflower Ear had a chromed automatic pistol. They
started to walk toward the house.
This could get ugly quickly.
The running lights from the truck illuminated the two men. But as they walked forward, continuing toward the
house, I lost them in the darkness. I jumped from around the corner, scooped up the re volver, and raced to the front
of Gary’s house until I came to a low rise. I dropped to the ground and braced my hand against the hump of snow
and earth.
I couldn’t let those assholes get to the house. I lined up a shot with my old-timey weapon. To say conditions were
less than ideal would’ve been a joke. I could barely see my targets in the dark, the wind was whistling through the
valley at what felt like thirty miles an hour, and I was using an ancient and unfamiliar gun. Plus I was facing a guy
who clearly was intent on killing me.
Nothing I haven’t experienced before.
I took a de ep breath, used the rough notch in the hammer to get set, then put the front sight center mass on Arnold
Marks’s chest.